


Kneel

by Grendel



Category: Bleach
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Introspection, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 23:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grendel/pseuds/Grendel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aizen muses on his girl. She was such a sweet thing, and so small. Aizen x Hinamori. Quite dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kneel

She really was a pretty thing. Soft and small. Sweet, always sweet. In humor and in flavor. Her neck always tasted of sweet vanilla – light and comforting and inoffensive. I never could resist stealing a taste (or two, or five) when I caught my little lieutenant all alone.

That little face was so fine, set on her slight form like a decorative cork on an expensive bottle of sake. Exactly as that, she was painted glass; Lovely, but oh so very fragile.

Every time I cupped that little face I n my hands and let my calligraphy pen-callused fingers trace patterns on her plush cheeks, I could not help but imagine her snapping. What might happen if I tightened my grip? Would her fragile skull crack and shatter under the crush my hands could apply so very easily.

What sound would it make?

I was ever so fond of her hair- it was spider-silk smooth. It ran and flowed in a dark sheet- ink through my fingers. I advised her to tie it up and out of the way to clear her vision and ease her training.

Of course, all I really wanted to do was keep even the sight of those starless-night black locks to myself. I had her entirely; even her hair belonged to me alone.

My good little girl did me a turn better: She secured it in a bao.

She had wonderful eyes- I always said so; dark and wide and lash-framed.

"These are eyes one can trust," I complimented once upon a time. "These are the eyes I can trust." My girl melted like snow cupped in my hands and lips, never knowing that the only trust I cared for was her own unto me; absolute and final.

Such little hands she had. I marveled that they were so strong, so dexterous. They could carry impressive weight- though never so much as the burdens for which she volunteered her shoulders- yet remained delicate enough to work a knot in a thread when she mended rips in her clothes, inflicted by zanpakuto or my impatient hands- Hands which closed completely around hers with ease. I could have snapped each and every digit. She might have even thanked me for the honor, had I spun my tale to twist her pretty little head. But I never did. I liked these hands. I desired them. I desired the little things she did with those small fingers. I taught her well.

Her words amused me- As did her actions. The tiny displays of affection she paid me. A floral arrangement on my writing desk, my bedding fresh long before any servant level soul reaper arrived. My favorite ink sticks always stocked - Even my girl herself, waiting to serve me with a bottle of hot sake in the evening. Her hands closed around my cup, never flinching against the heat that left her palms scalded red. Such a foolish mind. A silly child, so dear and well-behaved. And the pride with which her face shone when gifted the mildest comment of pleasure. She was led with such ease. She swallowed every drop I gave her.

A child's trusting mind and a porcelain-perfection face with such a spritely frame. So, so tiny, my girl. I appreciated it. I could lift and move and shift her. I might have swept her away while she was locked within sleep, and she would have moved like a doll in my strong arms. I might have crushed her at any time- a caress, a miniscule adjustment of stance. Or I might have released and relaxed and trapped her with my form.

I had to keel when I held her. I would sink slowly, holding my dignity firmly as I held my girl, grip iron in kid as it enclosed.

The blade was also iron in kid. Handle of the softest leather grip, and an edge of cold metal.

I kissed my girl's neck as I sank into her fragile form. Her trusting eyes were wide with pain and confusion, fine mouth a perfect little "oh" . I held her tiny hand as her tiny mind faded in to dark.

She smelt of vanilla.

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this on a con-high, inspired by a great cosplay pose. Aizen is a sociopath and that's just the way I like him.


End file.
